Chapter 15: Dead End's Revelation

Even up there, so far from the shore, on top of the Green House, the cry of the seagulls was loud and strong. The sea stretched wide and far, sparkling crimson in the setting sun, and just before the golden line of the horizon, the tall walls of the Whitefort city loomed above the gentle blanket of mist. Warm evening breeze invited to a walk through the Daggerfall streets, to infinite adventures and explorations. There was salt in the air, bringing the scents of Hammerfell desert spices and Elsweyr forests. First stars flickered in the sky, still dim and feeble in the lilac hue. A beautiful lazy day was to be followed by a wondrous night. Or so she thought.

"Hey Ravy!" someone called. She rolled over to the side of the roof, looking down through the ruffled vines of ivy. A boy stood on the street, not even four feet tall, a mop of chestnut hair curling wildly about his round, somewhat girly face. He waved at her, lips curled up in a smile but eyes bearing a shade of loneliness. "No vineyard tonight, m'fraid. Ye're being called."

"Called? Where to?"

"Where, where, yer home, where else? Yer old man's face looked like one of them castle hounds with bloody eyes and pucker sniffers, so you better scoot up fast."

Yrith swung herself to her feet, quickly making her way down, finding the protruding bricks and gaps in the mortar with absolute precision. She landed two feet from the boy in the squatting position, a move the local gangs liked to call the Assassin's Leap.

"Dad's home?" she asked with concern. "I'm gonna have it tonight. See you, Albi. Thanks for fetching me."

"No probs, Ravy! Same place tomorrow?"

"You bet!"

The two of them scurried away, each heading their own way. Yrith crossed the cobblestone bridge, eyes avoiding the dirt of the duckweed-covered river below. The house of her parents was just past the barracks on the right side of the street, with its wood-hatched gable, so typical for the Daggerfall architecture. She slowed down when she reached it, treading carefully around the window. She slipped inside in absolute silence and a chill ran down her spine as the shadow of the entrance corridor wrapped her in its coldness. The door to her father's study was closed. Just as she was about to enter, she froze, hearing her own name.

"You should leave Yrith here," someone said. "It's not safe for her." Yrith frowned. She knew the voice. They called him Erethis The Lean. He was an elven officer from the AWA, a frequent visitor to their house. To Yrith, he was a typical high elf snob who never as much as greeted her. Why he should mention her name all of a sudden, she had not the faintest idea.

"And if I leave her here, who's going to take care of her? Who's going to provide for her and give her home to come back to?" The agitated voice of her father made Yrith shudder. He was not angry with her. He had not found out that she liked to spend the evenings atop of the Green House. The ire in his voice was much deeper than that. What was happening? Where were they going?

"Damasy, please. Have you forgotten…"

"No, I have not. But for the sake of the Old Gods, Yrith is my daughter. You said the Association has been compromised. I will not leave her here with no one to watch over her."

"You are taking her deep in the enemy territory. The last time this happened, more than half of Winterhold went down in the sea. All that glory… all those people… gone in one splash. That… thing is no mere spellbrewer. He's a…"

"Don't you dare pretend to care, Erethis. You never even looked her way before."

"Things were different then. I did not need to."

"She's coming along."

"She has friends here. This is her home."

"She will find new ones."

"And Winterhold's a cold, barren place. There's nothing there."

"Erethis, leave this place. There is nothing for you here."

"You want to get your daughter killed?! Damasy Ravencroft, don't you have a heart?"

"I have more of it than you do. And Yrith is not a child anymore. She will shine."

"Of that I have no doubt. But she is different and you know it. Let us handle her."

There was a rustle, a thud and a gasp. Somewhere outside, a pair of roused doves took off with wild flapping of the wings. "Handle her?" Yrith's father snarled. "I should put you down for that statement alone. She will handle herself. Don't treat my daughter like some sort of abomination. She will live her life and make her own choices. And no one, not even you and your pathetic gang, is going to change it. Are we clear?"

"That… gang is still paying good coin to keep you going," Erethis coughed out. "You're a fool, Ravencroft. She will never be accepted. She will wish she was born to Oblivion instead."

"Wishful thinking." By the sudden gasps and coughing fit, Yrith assumed her father must have let go of his unwelcome guest. "Get out. I don't ever want to see you in my house again."

"It won't be long till it's not yours anymore." Erethis let out a snort. "And you will remember this moment. Mark my words. You will regret your choice."

"Get out."


That night, Yrith was taken away, shielded from prying eyes by the darkness of the moonless skies. She knew that the next day, Albi would be waiting for her in the usual place. It would be the first time in her life when she would break a promise to a friend.

She glanced over her shoulder. The city of Daggerfall was dotted with golden lights coming from the street lanterns and tall castle windows., cloaking the streets in soft glow whose warmth she had known her whole life. The familiar scents of the marketplace and cobbled pavements were so far away. Yet the road ahead was so long.

She looked at the bent backs of her parents, burdened by heavy rucksacks, walking relentlessly forward. A lone tear slid over her cheek and hit the rocky ground under her feet.


Yrith opened her eyes to the gloom of the night. It had been a while since she had last had a dream from her past. She had almost forgotten about the events of that fateful night when her parents suddenly dragged her away from home without giving her any answers. So much had happened since then. She had lost so much, but she had gained also.

"You were dreaming again," a voice issued beside her. She winced, turning in her bed to face Singird Larkwing, or, rather, his nigh motionless silhouette. She kept her blanket wrapped tight around her, trying to save as much warmth as possible. She was still in her day novice robe, not having changed since the last night, but it could not chase away the cold that had crept under her skin. The candles had long died out and the eastern horizon, barely visible over the window sill, was a shade lighter blue than the rest of the sky. The dwarven paperweight cast its pale turquoise glow unto the desk on the other side of the room.

"It wasn't the usual," she said weakly. She was tired. Excessively so, having only slept for the short while since Master Neloren's arrival.

"A regular nightmare then?" There was apparent relief in Master Larkwing's voice.

"I dreamt of the night we left Daggerfall."

He nodded, moving from the chair he had been sitting on to the side of her bed. He took her hand. A bold gesture, yet she responded automatically, closing her fingers around his. The memories of the previous evening seemed so distant, but every action and reaction they shared gave her a feeling of rightness.

"Do you miss it?" he asked. There was no restraint in his voice, nor did he push her. She felt at ease in his presence, like never before. Despite herself, she gave a light smile.

"I haven't thought about it," she replied truthfully.

"Or more like you haven't had the time to think about it?"

She chuckled. He was a keen observer. "It is strange," she said. "I feel like I am starting to forget all about that place. Even the things that happened there. There was this elf… Erethis. He tried to talk my father into leaving me behind."

Master Larkwing frowned. "Why would anyone do that?"

"I don't know… but father told him to stop treating me like some sort of abomination. I… at that time, I couldn't understand what he meant. But maybe he knew about my power. And my parents knew… while I had no idea."

"That is… disquieting."

Yrith shifted in her bed, clutching her pillow with one hand and Master Larkwing's fingers with the other. "So in the end, even if they were killed by someone else, it is still my fault."

"Why? Because even then they were after you? Don't you think it was your parents' choice to come in their pursuit? You could not have known. They told you nothing at all."

"True, but…"

"But?"

Yrith fell silent. The mere thought of someone wishing for her death still paralyzed her. She sat up and her eyes wandered out to the rising sun just to avoid his. She was not a fighter and no amount of training could ever prepare her for the encounter. She could not even face her own classmates properly. And every time she did, she just wished to disappear.

"M-master Larkwing," she said at last, but was silenced immediately with his finger on her lips.

"I am no master of yours," he shook his head. "Not anymore. You know what to call me, don't you? Yrith…" He added her name in a whisper. She felt hot blood in her cheeks and instinct forced her to look him in the eyes. They smiled at her mysteriously, invited her. She bit her lip, not feeling in the slightest prepared.

"S-Singird?" she tried, cautiously as though she was stepping on a bobbing floe. He nodded approvingly.

"That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

She let her lips curl up in tacit reply.

"So? What was it you wanted to tell me?"

She took a breath. "Do you think… I mean… when can I return to the classes?"

He froze. If there had been a hint of mirth in his face, Yrith's question had wiped it all away. He sighed.

"Selfish and shortsighted as it may seem, I hoped this day would never come," he uttered quietly. "But I suppose you have a good reason to ask?"

"It's just… I feel that if I stay here, I will never be able to face the world. Much less… whoever it is that tried to poison me."

She gasped as he suddenly locked his arms around her, pressing her against his person as if trying to squeeze all air out of her. She could feel him tremble, but he drew breath after breath, mustering the courage to talk. It felt strange, being the one who was somewhat in control of her feelings while he felt helpless and scared. She closed her eyes and let him take over.

"I don't want to let you," he said. "I dread the moment you get hurt, and thinking of losing you is just… paralyzing." He buried his hand in her hair, letting her feel every bit of his worries. For a while, the two of them sat there in silence, letting the dawn dissolve into morning. Then he broke off and looked into her face. Yrith felt a sting of guilt. His eyes had never been darker.

"But you drive a hard bargain," he said at last. "Your words are as painful as they are true, and I can't cut off your wings when you decide to soar." He laughed helplessly. "You have become so strong. But promise me, Yrith… promise me you won't do anything reckless. Stay in sight, don't get into fights you cannot win. Don't draw unnecessary attention to yourself. And…"

"I can't possibly do all of that," she said with a light chuckle. Then her smile faded. "But I will try. I too have something I don't want to lose."

"You are so eloquent now." His look was gentle and caring and it put her at ease.

"You have made me so," she said, filling the words with gratitude. He nodded in understanding.

They stayed like that for a long while, watching the day pass. A dragon glided over the sky far to the south and its cry tore through the air, reaching them even through the closed window. Then it disappeared in the mountains and the land was serene once more.


That morning, Yrith had left her bed with not a wink of sleep. Singird was sulking and would not talk to her, leaving her to examine the dark circles under her eyes and eat by herself. He would not look her way when she readied herself and he would not see her off when Master Tolfdir came to fetch her for her first class in forever. She left in a bitter mood, and the sight of her classmates' glares when they arrived in the Hall of the Elements did not help her humor either. To Master Tolfdir's surprise and the amusement of the whole class, she took a deep breath and slapped her cheeks. She straightened her back as the echo slowly faded, eyeing the class with new determination.

Something was missing. She scanned the small crowd, shattered into a number of groups. Cain and Leyna stood in the rear, the former with anticipation in his eyes, the latter studying the floor in silence. Her friends were there. But something was still missing.

"Today," Master Tolfdir said when the laughs and hums from the crowd died out, "Miss Ravencroft will be rejoining us. As you know, she has been a victim to a murder attempt. However, I trust this incident will not cloud your judgement. I ask that you treat each other with proper respect – and that goes both ways."

He nodded to her and she left his side to join the class. Cain was waiting for her, arms crossed over his chest, wearing the smug look she remembered from the old days, but she knew he was not true.

"Well well, way to go with dramatic departures," he said. "What took you so long?"

Yrith blinked, pondering the answer for a split moment. Then she shrugged. "Hibernation?"

He broke into a grin. "Well, your timing is a bit off, but maybe the winter comes early in Daggerfall."

She laughed, and even the gloomy Leyna at his side hinted a smile.

"Welcome back," she sang in her beautiful alto, though her eyes seemed to drift elsewhere. Yrith studied her closely. Her elven friend looked beyond tired, and Yrith suspected the smooth, fair skin under her eyes was the result of a very convincing chameleon spell concealing the dark circles that had originally been there.

"It's good to be back," Yrith said, and she meant it. Looking at the tall blue-lit windows of the Hall of the Elements with the eyes of a mere student was somewhat comforting, as if a great burden had been taken off her shoulders. She scanned the rest of her class. Some people were not so secretly pointing at her. There were whispers and murmurs, but Yrith had been expecting as much. But something was still missing.

As Master Tolfdir began a lecture on protective skin charms such as oakflesh, Yrith examined the room. The fountain was as she remembered, the walls still weathered by the tooth of time. The windows were tall and the distant howling of the wind outside was barely audible through their magical structure. Her classmates were there…

She froze.

"Where is Qassir?" she asked her friends in whisper.

"Didn't you hear?" Cain replied as he scribbled something in a seemingly hastily bound notebook. "He disappeared shortly after you were poisoned. No one knows where. But ever since then, the murders…"

"Shush," Leyna scolded him, knitting her brows. "I know he's a strange one, but surely he would not kill a person, no? And why would he save Yrith when he had the chance?"

"Well, I still need to figure that one out…"

Yrith frowned. "Cut it out, will you?" she hissed. "You don't want to become like that prejudiced lot…" she waved to the rest of the class and froze. It was dead quiet and everyone was looking at her. And clear as the Hammerfell sky, they must have heard her.

"Erm…"

"Well, Miss Ravencroft," Master Tolfdir spoke into the silence, "I was just saying that you could demonstrate to us the correct usage of oakflesh." The class laughed. Yrith felt a hot flush in her cheeks. Cain patted her on the shoulder. Leyna's face mirrored slight amusement, perhaps even satisfaction.

"Right," Yrith mumbled as she pulled up her sleeves. She took a breath. A tiny amount of magicka would do. Nothing to attract attention, or at least not more than she already had. She called for it, letting it spread over her body and harden like a second, more resilient skin, creating a natural armor. There were murmurs among the people, some appreciative, but most derisive. She tried her best to ignore them.

"Very well. Mister Feiran, could you tell us what Miss Ravencroft just did?"

Nelarin Feyran, the tattooed Bosmer, took his glassy eyes off Ha'risha whom he had been eyeing with admiration and straightened his back. "Oakflesh," he said in a mannered voice, "is a novice-level Alteration spell which gives its caster protection similar to armor. It is created by spreading one's magicka evenly over the surface of their body and hardening it enough to absorb physical damage but not enough to prevent the caster from moving freely. The structure of oakflesh is an emulation of leather armor, even if the magicka itself is reminiscent of oak bark in appearance."

A corner of Yrith's mouth twitched. A Novice's Guide to Alteration, chapter 3: Protective Charms. That was what Nelarin had quoted.

"Thank you," Master Tolfdir said, "but that is not an answer to my question. Anyone else?"

"She cast stoneflesh instead of oakflesh," Dorien Lafayette said after a moment of silence.

"Correct. As you know, stoneflesh is a stronger version of oakflesh and it creates a harder shell with a different texture. Miss Ravencroft expressed strength and capability. However, you should always cast spells adequate to the situation. Should you face an enemy, or even just negotiate with a stranger, revealing your strengths too soon may work against you. When healing or lighting a torch, using a spell too strong could cause harm. To be a mage means not only to use magic, but also to use it wisely. Control is important, remember that. Now, Miss Ha'risha, would you demonstrate oakflesh for us?"

Yrith sighed, ignoring the bronze Khajiit who stood to attention and raised her paws to cast the spell. Being told this in front of the whole class certainly felt different than when Singird scolded her during their sessions. Although, as she suddenly realized, from him it hurt in a whole different way.

Cain patted her again. "Don't worry about what he says. That was still quite impressive."

"No, it wasn't. Stoneflesh isn't even an impressive spell to begin with. He's right. I can't even control what I do."

"You just need practice, that's all."

"I don't need practice. It's just…"

That there was too much untamed magic in her. That she was different, a special case which needed special handling. A freak who could not function like everyone else did. An abomination.

"… forget it," she shook her head.

"Well… fine. I just wanted to help, you know."

"I know," Yrith said quietly.

They spent the rest of the lesson in silence. Master Tolfdir instructed everyone except Yrith to practice stoneflesh. She alone had to try oakflesh, "for the sake of control." Once again, she was the one practicing the basics while everyone else had moved on to the more advanced part. She gritted her teeth. It was all a part of the training, she told herself. She must not become discouraged.


The lesson had finally ended and Yrith felt drained of her willpower. While others struggled to even find enough magicka to perform their spells, she fought to suppress her own in order to gain control. She sighed.

"Master Aldaryn offers you a private lesson," Cain said, hinting a wink as he stuffed his notes into his knapsack.

Yrith smiled. "Thank you. I'm not sure it would help though. I mean Si… Master Larkwing and some others tried to do the same."

"True, but they know so much that maybe they have long forgotten what it feels like to be a beginner."

Yrith raised her brows, more questioning her own judgement than his words. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she too, by immersing herself in advanced literature rather than novice guides and by taking the words of her experienced mentors too literally, prevented herself from grasping the basics.

"Fair point," she said with new determination. "Let's do that."

"That was quick. Do you have time tomorrow after Illusion?"

She sized her Dunmer friend up. He was so eager to help, and it brought a smile to her lips. Singird would not let her. He would reason with her and suspect Cain of trying to lure her out. He would be against her leaving his or other teachers' sight. She bit her lip.

"I do," she nodded. She would make it work. Somehow.

"Then it's a deal. I need to run to the library. Damn Faralda is making us work our arses off, and Larkwing's even worse," he snorted. "What expert class are you taking, by the way?"

Yrith had never considered she could even qualify for expert classes. Now the question found her unprepared. Restoration came to her mind first, the school which she respected and valued. But that choice would enrage Singird. He would surely expect her to sign up for Conjuration. She laughed inwardly as she imagined his face, creased with wrinkles and sulking just as he had been this morning.

"That's a secret," she said with a smile.

Cain snorted. "You're not making it easy for me, you know that? Anyway, are you coming along?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. There's something I need to take care of."

"Well, then you know where to find me. However strange it sounds. And by the way," he added as he stepped closer and pulled her into a brief, friendly hug, "it is really good to have you back."

Yrith blushed inadvertently. "Who are you and what have you done with Cain?"

He left with a laugh, waving at her before he disappeared behind the door to the Arcanaeum.

"Then I'll be off," Yrith said to Leyna. The Altmeri girl, who had been silent until now, suddenly put a hand on Yrith's arm.

"Wait," she said with urgency in her tone. She looked around. They had been left alone. The crackling of the fountain drowned her quiet voice. She pressed her lips together, unable to voice whatever was on her mind.

Yrith raised her brows and waited.

"Do you have just a moment? Somewhere out of sight…"

Yrith looked around, as though a secret door should appear out of thin air at any moment. Out of sight, she said, but the only place she could think of was the Midden. It was forbidden for the students to enter it. Ice wraiths lurked around every corner and there were rumors of dead risen from their corpse piles and a troll waiting for unsuspecting victims. A year prior, four advanced class students had disappeared from the College after some strange discovery in the Midden that none of the Collegium members wished to talk about. And somehow, Yrith did not feel brave enough to venture inside.

She grabbed Leyna's hand and hurried toward the entrance gate. Someone would be here to pick her up soon and this was her only chance to gain herself a moment of freedom. The two of them crossed the courtyard, not minding the occasional snowflake that fluttered to the ground, grey against the milky white skies. They fought their way through the small crowd of students gathering near the entrance to the Hall of Attainment and slipped inside the blue-lit corridor. Yrith pulled her friend in her own room, locking it with her magic. Then she let out a breath, scanning the place.

It felt so strange, coming here after such a long time spent in Singird's chambers. The coziness Yrith had once felt here was gone with the wind of time, the only remainder being a vague memory. There were still several piles of paper on her table, crumpled with moisture and grey under a thin layer of frosty dust. The last speck of sand in the hourglass standing on the shelf by her bed had long descended. The room was grey and still. Yrith gave a worried look to her bed, or rather, the unseen contents underneath it. Somewhere in those dark corners would be the book she had come here to fetch. But not when she had company. She raised her hands to cast a few protective charms she had learned from Master Neloren.

"Would this suffice?" she said with a sheepish smile, turning back to Leyna. Her friend looked around and slowly nodded.

"Yrith, I…" Leyna inhaled, searching for the right words. Then she shook her head and sank onto Yrith's bed, resting her face in her hands. "Where do I even begin," she uttered with resignation.

Yrith frowned, remembering Leyna's crying face just a few days before. "That murder in Winterhold," she said as she joined her, "it has something to do with it, doesn't it?"

"I am scared," Leyna whispered. "My father… he said I would be safe here. Back when he sent me here, he repeated this to me so many times. But now he is…" The hands under her face clenched into fists. She glanced to Yrith, then to the floor. "I… need to calm down." She talked more to herself than to Yrith.

There was no tea or water Yrith could give her shaken friend. The room offered no comfort whatsoever, and she was afraid to light a candle. Someone on the outside could notice. Yrith groped about her pocket and found a small leaf package. Opening it, she stared at the pastry in the palm of her hand. A rockie from Singird, a memory of her homeland.

With a soft smile, she passed it to Leyna. What an irony, that Singird had offered the same sort of comfort to her in this very room when she was to speak about her nightmares. Leyna took it with a silent nod of appreciation.

"Do you know what my father does for living?" she asked as she nibbled on the rockie, more to occupy herself than out of interest.

Yrith shook her head.

"He is the secretary in the Office of Provincial Studies in Alinor. I assume you know that Alinor is the capital of the Summerset Isle and currently also the name of the whole country?"

A nod in response.

"Well, Alinor is now ruled by the Thalmor. And they're…" Leyna's lips trembled at the memory of her homeland. She took a breath. "They're as ruthless as the rumors say. If you ever go against the Thalmor, chances are that you soon mysteriously disappear from the surface of Nirn, along with your friends and all the members of your family. And my father… the honorable Secretary of Provincial Studies, did exactly that."

Yrith put a hand on Leyna's arm, the only gesture of solace she could think of. She doubted this elven girl could be comforted with an embrace such as the ones Singird had offered her. She had no words for her, and so she just waited. Leyna took a while, staring on the floor, before she decided to continue.

"He was searching for something. I am certain of it. My father would never run away out of fear. He is a proud elf. He spent so much time in the local library, studying, researching, draining knowledge like water. The only occasions he even looked at me were when he taught me the art of linguistics and then the moment before my departure. And if he left, it means that he has run out of material or the Thalmor did not like his research. Or both."

Leyna stood up and paced across the room, staring through the window into the snowy courtyard. The fluttering robes of Arch-Mage Shalidor, frozen in stone for eternity, caught the blue fountain light from one side and the snowflakes from the other. She propped herself against the window sill, staring pensively at the sight.

"This place is so quiet," she said in low voice. "So peaceful… as long as one doesn't look under the surface."

"What are you trying to say?" Yrith asked, unsure what to make of her friend's words.

"That day before we parted ways, he kept saying I'd be safe here. He said it far too many times for me to believe it. And he touched me on my cheek and…"

Leyna gripped the window frame, inhaling deeply to calm herself.

"I don't trust this place. I think he was trying to convince himself, rather than me. But we are not safe here. You… you're the living – fortunately still living – proof of that. But I don't think this all is just a coincidence. I was sent here for a reason."

Yrith joined her friend by the window. Cold air passed through the gaps between it and the wall, giving her shivers. "Is there a single person who has it easy here?" she asked thoughtfully.

"No. I don't believe so. This place is cursed. We are cursed. And it is no coincidence." Leyna turned her golden eyes to Yrith. "The people in our class… they are all from families dealing in shady areas.

"There is my father with his research, and I know from a few of our family visits that the Thalmor have spent vast resources trying to figure out what he was looking for. Then there is Cain. The Aldaryns have roots within the houses of Indoril and Telvanni. A very strange combination, but they left the traditional teachings a long time ago to follow some strange, dark deity that overshadows the daedra when it comes to committed atrocities. Cain is their youngest son. He has three much older brothers and a sister, and, as you might have guessed, no future. Paying for his studies here is easier than taking care of him. Ha'risha is the daughter of a former Khajiit chief. She left her own family, renounced her kin's customs and was adopted by a Bosmer mage serving the Dominion. Aernil and Nelarin's families always had close ties with the Camorans and the Mythic Dawn, but never joined for unknown reasons. To be more precise, they have ties everywhere and can dig out any information you dream of. But the things they ask for in return – I don't even want to know. Tanya is an only child and a daughter of a strange Altmer-Imperial union. I think her parents are spies of sorts and have killed more people than I ever even saw in my life. Dorien's family looks like the typical High Rock merchant clan – except the things they trade are all artifacts of unbelievable value like varla stones, functional dwemer dynamos or keys to places you didn't even know existed, and their clients remain ever silent and ever unknown. Saelar's father is the type of man who will stop at nothing to get to the top, and he is very good at it. None of his victims ever fell by his own hand, but they sure did by his doing. And Ildreth and Jearis… their families have always stood on the opposing sides when it comes to political views, but they never fought and never schemed against each other. The Dominion has their eyes on them. They expect conspiracy, but the Rissis and Finorans are very good at covering their tracks."

Yrith stared at Leyna with eyes wide open, trying to process the sudden flood of information. "How do you know all this?"

Leyna shrugged. "I listen. When my father took me to visits, no one paid attention to a girl that had not even reached her twenties. Take some canvas, a thread and a needle, and no one will even notice you are there." She let out a bitter laugh. "But on these visits, I have never heard the name Tahlrah, not to mention Ravencroft."

Of course she had not. Yrith's parents had been no nobles, and they had always profiled themselves as no one important.

"Well…"

"Yrith, you are different. Impartial. And I need you to help me." Leyna's eyes were suddenly pleading, and Yrith was convinced that it was only her upbringing that stopped her friend from grabbing her shoulders.

"Help you? But… how?"

"Those two people who died… one of them was a messenger. An elven courier. I was expecting a message from my father, an invitation… but he was only a decoy. Yesterday, I finally received a note. It was brought by one of those Nord couriers, the ones roaming Skyrim. And it was encrypted. My father… he is close. I need to see him, he might need help… but I can't go alone."

"Leyna… you know that we would be risking our lives by leaving the College…"

"Would we? Or are we risking our lives staying inside? Does it even matter? I will not coat my words in honey. I think someone wants you dead because you are a threat. You break our lines and make us see reason. I have told you before. You are different, and for that reason alone, you challenge us to think upon our views of the world. You don't even have to do anything and you could still turn the tides. You are someone to be feared. The safety we are given here… I do not believe in it. They have managed to get to you before and I don't see why they shouldn't be able to do it again. Come with me, Yrith. You can turn back at any time. But I need you with me."

The intensity of Leyna's plea made Yrith step back. She shakily bit her lip, staring at her friend's silhouette against the window and the white skies behind it. "I… I don't understand what you're talking about."

She felt so small, and there certainly could not be any way that she, a simple girl whose only aspiration in magic was to conjure a friend to keep her company, could be a threat to anyone. Leyna's father was a politician, that must have been the reason she talked like that. She had seen so much, and feared so much. And her father was out there while she was here… feeling utterly helpless.

"You will understand… once we'll meet him. He will give you answers. Many of them."

Yrith's eyes drifted to the bed and the hidden treasure beneath it. Of course, regardless of threats and perils, she would have done anything to see her parents again.

She let out a breath and gave a slow nod. "I'll… I'll see what I can do."

Leyna hinted a smile, tattered by worry. "Tomorrow when your lesson with Cain is over, meet me here."

She slipped through the door and disappeared in the Hall of Attainment. Yrith watched it for a while, feeling her stomach knot. So many dangerous promises she had given out today. And here she was, hiding from the teachers' sight.

At last, she turned to the bed and groped underneath it. The book had to be there. She pressed herself to the cold floor, squinting in the dark, but there was nothing to be seen. She kept searching with both her hands and her eyes, touching every inch of the stone under the bed, inhaling the dust and the frozen moisture. Yet, there was nothing. Panic overcame her. This could not be true.

"Looking for this?" a voice said behind her.

Yrith hit her head when she suddenly tried to sit up. With a painful gasp, she quickly pulled herself out to see the uninvited guest, rubbing her head where it hit the bed. Her eyes widened at the sight of the Arch-Mage, sitting comfortably on Yrith's desk, back propped against the wall behind her. In her lap lay the exact book Yrith had been looking for. The Arch-Mage's green and gold eyes observed her attentively, but nothing could be read from her lizard face. Yrith's eyes roved to the door. It was closed and protected, just as she had left it. The Arch-Mage must have been here all along. Yrith paled at the realization.

"Young and curious," the Arch-Mage said gently. "I still remember how it felt."

"A-Arch-Mage…" was the only thing Yrith managed to articulate.

"Miss Ravencroft, is it? I must say you have a very… unusual taste in literature."

"That's…"

"Do take a seat, please. The floor must be very cold and uncomfortable."

Incredulous, Yrith forced herself up and took a seat at the edge of her bed. She waited, but the Arch-Mage did not seem to be in a hurry to explain herself. With something that was likely a smile, she let magic envelop her fingers. Next to her on the desk appeared a silver tray with snowberry tarts. That was not a chameleon spell that had hidden them from Yrith's sight, but true invisibility. She stared at the Arch-Mage. Despite her appearance, the Argonian lady must have been a very powerful mage.

"Help yourself," she invited. "And pardon me for borrowing your room. During your absence, it has become a nice sanctuary to hide from prying eyes and incessant requests."

"When Leyna was here, did you…"

"Hear the whole conversation? A very serious one, wasn't it? And now you are expecting me to go and stop you."

Yrith could only respond with silence, staring at the floor.

"Say, did you finish this book?"

The sudden change of subject made Yrith raise her head again. The Arch-Mage was tapping the page, looking at Yrith with intense curiosity.

"Almost, but…"

"It is not finished." She extended her hand to pass the book to Yrith, adding a tart on top of it. Yrith gave her a disapproving look, but accepted it anyway. Taking a bite of the tart, she sifted through the pages. The sweet taste of snowberries filled her mouth and brought back a distant memory. She shushed it, staring at the book. The Arch-Mage was right. The last pages were empty. Only at the bottom of the very last one, in an almost unreadable script, there was one sentence.

My master has come for me at last.

Yrith cursed her habit of never looking at the final pages of the books she read. But this could not be true. If the book did not have the answer she was looking for, then why would Urag be so angry with her?

"But…"

"Do you know the master that Septimus Signus is talking about?"

Yrith shook her head.

"Neither do I. Intriguing, where some roads lead us, isn't it? Just when it seems you are about to reach your goal, you run into a dead end. And sometimes, a revelation comes when you least expect it." She filled her mouth with a tart, staring thoughtfully at the window. "I think you should visit your friends in the library. Study for your expert exams a bit. Talk to Mister Lafayette and ask him about his trouble with Conjuration. Perhaps you could even help him and gain a new ally. An ordinary moment of study time would do you good, don't you think?"

"What…"

"Off you go, Miss Ravencroft. I need some time for myself. I will hold onto this." The book slid out of Yrith's hands, fueled by the Arch-Mage's magic, until it landed back in her lap. She smiled angelically at Yrith as she beckoned toward the door which opened seemingly by itself.

Without a word, Yrith dropped a quick curtsy and excused herself. The Arch-Mage gave her shivers. She would have to tell Leyna to meet elsewhere to avoid her lizard sight. But something in the Arch-Mage's voice told Yrith she should at least consider her advice. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps a while of ordinary studying was just what she needed. And perhaps it was finally time to face Urag. After a brief contemplation, she made for the Arcanaeum.

The library welcomed her with murmurs and quiet rustling of pages. She inhaled the heavy dust-filled air and searched for the orc. When she found the stepladder on which he was standing, searching for something in the highest shelves, their eyes met. She froze, forgetting her breath for a while. Then she forced herself to step into the corridor and follow the aisle to his stand.

"Been a long time," he grumbled as he stepped down to greet her.

"It has," she nodded shyly.

They stared at each other for a moment. Then he suddenly pulled her closer and buried her in his muscular, green arms.

"And thank Malacath you are still in one piece, you reckless piece of mother-orc's tusk!"

"U-Urag…"

"Do you have any idea how worried I was? It has been so long!"

"I… I'm sorry…"

"Well, you should be. But wait till I get my hands on the bastard that's trying to have your neck. They will be sorry."

Yrith smiled into Urag's stitched robe. "It is good to see you again," she said.

"Likewise," he grumbled. "Well, I suppose you came in search for books? Don't overdo it with your magic here. I hear you have been causing quite some uproar within the higher circles." He grinned at her mischievously as he let go. Yrith laughed.

"I will try," she said with a wink.

She left him deep in thought. He had not addressed the book. She was certain he remembered it, but her own safety always came first. How unfair she had been to snap at him that day. How terrible she must have made him feel. She felt a sting of guilt stab her in the chest.

"Urag!" she called to him, rushing back.

"Hmm?"

"I… I'm sorry for…"

He ruffled her hair. "That's in the past." Then he turned back to his books.

When Yrith left him for the second time, she did not even realize how big the smile she wore was. She entered the study hall feeling a lot lighter than moments before, and the first thing to welcome her were the raised brows of her classmates. She just shrugged them off, finding Dorien Lafayette among them. Nodding to Cain as she passed him, she approached her Breton classmate who was gripping the same dictionary he had been fighting over with Urag a few days before, during her little adventure with Singird. Now that she stood before him, she had no idea what to say to a boy whom she had never spoken to before. He was one of those who often gave her cold looks, but never spoke to her aloud. Yrith had no idea what he thought of her.

"H-hello," she tried hesitantly. There was a burst of laughter.

"Ravencroft is trying to talk to Lafayette now?" someone sneered. "Oooh, how dangerous!" Yrith did her best to ignore them. She bit her lip, but no words came to her. The boy stared at her in expectation. Then he sighed.

"Look, dolt, if you're only here to chat, don't waste your time. Unlike you, we actually need to spend our time studying."

Dolt… she was not liked. Not at all.

She pointed at the dictionary. "Is that for Conjuration?"

Another sigh. "Don't know why you care, but yes, that's for Conjuration. And no, I am not sharing it with you."

"There's a better book if you want to learn the daedric script in practice. There are graphs of ritual circles… and you can create patterns from them. It is called Techniques of Summoning in Graphemes and Shapes."

A bit of concentration to confirm where the book was and then, with a wave of her hand, she fetched it with her magic. She handed it to the boy before her and he accepted it with question in his eyes. He gave the book a doubtful look as he scanned its pages, but that quickly turned into surprise.

"I don't know why you're doing this, and I hope you are not expecting anything in return. But this sure looks useful. Suppose I'll leave the dictionary for those who want to feel fooled by how these characters aren't at all the characters they actually look like in our common script."

"I suppose they do…" Yrith laughed nervously. She gave a look to the dictionary, still open in his lap. He had a point. The characters were indeed quite similar to the common script, except they represented different sounds. How inconvenient. Although…

She gasped as realization sank in. "Wait, what… say that again?"

"That I'm not giving anything in return…"

"No. The characters…"

"That they look like ours but they aren't what they seem to be? What of it?"

Yrith stared at him. There it was, the answer she had been looking for. Everybody saw that, except for her. If she had studied like a normal student, struggled with the dictionaries, complained about the foreign scripts… she would have found out so much sooner. She laughed. More raised brows followed, but she just shook her head. How had the Arch-Mage said it?

And sometimes, a revelation comes when you least expect it.

"You, sir," she said to Dorien, "are a genius!" With that, she scurried away, taking the steps to the College roof by two as she hurried to Singird's room. The wind up there whipped her cheeks and fought against her, and it almost felt like eternity before she finally stormed into the room, catching her breath.

Singird jumped up, face twisted in anger. "Yrith! Where in Oblivion have you been?! I hear you disappeared just after Alteration. The whole College has been looking for you since then!"

"With the Arch-Mage," Yrith replied without thinking. "And then at the library."

"The Arch-Ma…"

Yrith waved him off impatiently. "Singird! I found the key to the cipher!"

Singird stared at her, taken aback. For a brief moment, anger fought thrill in his face. Then it changed completely and his eyes widened.

"You did?"

"It's so simple… it never even occurred to me. The hints are all in the book. The great elven princess Astarie, and her daedric lover, 'a small fry'… the capital letters are in the elven script and the rest is daedric."

"That doesn't make any sense. What would you achieve by that?"

Yrith gave him an impish smile. "Just wait and see."

The two of them worked through the text together. First a daedric letter, an elven one, two daedric ones… the further they progressed, the deeper the frown on Singird's face.

"This is atrocity," he commented on the uneven line of text that appeared before them. Yrith smiled as she patted his shoulder. Surely this must have been a visual torture for a person like Singird. Yet she found this side of him immensely adorable.

When the text was completed, Yrith looked at it, feeling a mixture of fear and accomplishment. Singird kept frowning.

"And now?"

"And now we look," Yrith said, taking the piece of paper with the finished message and extending her hand to look at it from distance. Singird let out an incredulous breath.

"How, for the love of the Nine, did you figure this out?"

"I had help," Yrith said quietly. Clear as the day, the message stood there, right in front of their eyes.

BEWARE OF THE STRIFE. FIND THE MAD SAGE OF TIME. WHAT HAPPENED IS NOT YOUR FAULT.

A cipher in a cipher, Yrith thought to herself. But the last sentence even she understood. They had known. They had known they would die, and they had been prepared for it all along. And Singird was right. She had not killed her parents. Up until now, she had refused to believe it. She had denied herself the peace of mind she rightfully deserved out of fear of someone proving him wrong. But they had known. They had even known she would blame herself. How could they have perished so easily then?

She sank into her chair, letting the paper fall on the desk. A tear slid down her cheek and dropped with a quiet splash on the back of her hand. Singird's hand wrapped around her shoulders before he pulled her to his chest, holding her close and tight, deep in the warmth of his embrace.


Regarding the huge delay, I will just say one thing. Working people don't have it easy… :'(

I'd like to thank iNiGmA for the absolutely wonderful comments she left! They made me smile almost every day and also gave me courage to come back to my story after such a long and unwanted pause. Thank you! 3

I'd love to know you guys' opinion as well. It was strangely quiet after the last chapter and I kept wondering how many of you got outraged by this sudden development. I hope you guys don't hate me now. :)

Next chapter will be a breaking point. Look forward to it!

Mirwen out!